Historically, the term luxury has always been a standard of quality, a mark of authenticity and shielded by a veil of exclusivity. But now the term is increasingly being owned by high street brands looking to squeeze a few more pennies via some nice packaging, leading to this dearth of 'luxury' options.
I have two in my wardrobe currently, having sent a third to a charity shop last summer. One of the two is wearable - just about - layered under a trophy jumper, with the collar peeking out. The other hangs, unworn, unloved, in my closet reproaching me for my stupidity in falling, yet again, for the illusory charm of a CWS (Crisp White Shirt).
Who'd have thought that Charlie Brown, the bumbling, all American boy next door who never quite got it right, would infiltrate the world of high fashion?
You might not be aware of it, distracted as you are by the armies of spendy hipsters that march through your doors each week, but our relationship has been deteriorating for years. If indeed, it was ever truly a relationship to begin with - I've hankered after your nostalgic blouses, your vampy skirts and your little strappy dresses for yonks now, while you remain coolly oblivious.